The ramshackle cottage was empty when Lancelot awoke the following morning. He forced his weary eyelids open with a reluctant groan, then blinked in confusion as he struggled to remember where he was and exactly how he'd gotten there.
This isn't my chamber. What...?
Suddenly, his mind conjured up a vivid image of a sword being driven through Lord Elbert's chest, a swift and unanticipated act that had bought him and his companions their freedom. He was somewhat surprised as he examined his conscience, realizing the shame he'd expected to feel over such a dishonorable act had never come.
No, the aftermath had only given him a deep feeling of satisfaction, which he couldn't quite bring himself to feel guilty about. Perhaps it was a poor reflection upon his own character, but he found it difficult to see any lack of honor in killing such a despicable man. How many victims, innocent people like Millie and Jack, had been saved from a miserable fate through his actions?
Maybe the ends really do justify the means sometimes, he mused to himself as he rose and pulled on his boots. It was an idea that made perfect sense in reality, far more than those old codes of honor he was starting to believe had been imagined for a world that didn't exist.
"Hello?" he called, stepping through one of the gaps in the crumbling walls and raising a hand to shield his eyes from the bright morning sunlight. "Jack? Millie?"
"Over here!"
Lancelot turned his head in the direction of the call, then stopped short as his eyes fell upon Millie standing on the bank of the river. She was naked from head to toe, making no move to cover herself as she raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.
He quickly averted his gaze, but not before the appealing sight of milk white skin dusted with a smattering of light freckles burned itself into his mind. Try as he might, it was impossible to push away the vision of small, rose tipped breasts and the little thatch of bright red hair that promised pleasures he knew all too well. He cursed under his breath as he felt himself grow hard.
"Really, Lancelot," he heard her say as he gritted his teeth and stared at a pine cone on the ground at his feet. "I'd wager you've been inside me nearly half a hundred times by now. Under the circumstances, it's a little absurd to play the honorable gentleman, don't you think?"
The tone in her voice was playfully mocking, but there was an edge to it that indicated she was hurt by his rejection. He sighed heavily as a wave of guilt washed over him, suddenly realizing that what had happened between them had gone too far... and not only for the reasons which had already caused him to put an end to it.
His own reasons, which were the only factor that had driven him all along. The need to satisfy his cravings, the constant desire for physical release, the temptation of a pleasurable escape from the bleak hopelessness he'd struggled so hard to push away. Even when he'd chosen to stop, he'd been entirely focused on his own feelings in doing so. He'd given little thought to how she might be affected by his decision.
He raised his head again, taking a deep breath as he forced his eyes to meet hers. What he found looking back at him was a vulnerability he'd never noticed before, as a flurry of sadness, uncertainty, desire, and perhaps even a little fear played across her features. He wasn't sure if it was love he saw in her eyes, but it couldn't be very far from it.
How long has she felt this way? he asked himself angrily. How long has this been going on, while I was too selfish to even notice?
"Lancelot," she said softly, moving closer and reaching out to trail her fingers down his chest as she peeked up at him through lowered lashes. "No matter what you said the other night, we both know what you want. Why do you deny us both?"
Why indeed? His thoughts became scattered and vague as his body instinctively responded to her nearness. She chuckled low in her throat, giving him a knowing look as her fingers drifted lower to brush against his hardness through the fabric of his trousers. Despite his earlier resolve, he let out a shuddering sigh, pressing himself more firmly into the touch.
It would be so easy to give in. She had a point – why should he deny himself, when she was obviously willing, even eager for him? Just one more time, one more chance to feel that sweet release, and… no, this wasn't right. He'd only be using her, and he was finished with that.
"Stop," he said hoarsely, reaching down to push her hands away from the laces of his trousers. She didn't seem to hear him at first; he groaned in both desire and frustration as her fingers reached inside and wrapped around his erection, pulling it free. "We have to stop. I... damn it, Millie. Enough!"
He immediately regretted the harshness in his tone as she took a clumsy step backward, staring at him as if he'd struck her as her eyes filled with tears. Guilt overwhelmed him; he held out his hands in a helpless gesture as she bent down to retrieve her clothing.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"To what?" she said in a muffled voice as she jerked the worn gray dress over her head. "To turn me down? On the contrary, that's exactly what you intended to do. You wanted me to stop and so you stopped me."
"Perhaps, but I didn't mean to be so harsh about it."
Millie snorted contemptuously, though her voice was shaky when she spoke. "Do you think it matters? I've dealt with far worse. Besides, I didn't leave you much of a choice. I just assumed you didn't really mean what you said the other night. Men rarely do, after all."
"But I did mean it," he said quietly. "What we were doing wasn't right. Not for either of us, but especially not for you."
She turned and glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He hesitated before he spoke. "I... it was only about pleasure for me. I knew all along that I'd never have anything else to offer. I convinced myself it was all right in the beginning, but now... to continue when it's clear that it means something more for you..."
"You're wrong, Lancelot. But even if you weren't, how is it any business of yours what I might feel or not feel? What gives you the right to decide what's best for me?"
"Because I don't want to be responsible for hurting you," he responded quietly.
"Have you ever considered that this might be enough for me, just as it is?" she said more quietly, her anger suddenly melting into a stark vulnerability that wrenched at his heart. "No man has ever treated me half as well as you do, whether you feel anything for me or not. I'd be a fool to wish for anything more than that."
Pained by her words, he cursed under his breath. "This is the price of the life you've lived, isn't it? You can't see what you truly deserve and even if you can, you're afraid to hope it could be yours."
"And what is it you think I deserve?" Millie said softly as she seated herself on an overgrown log, staring up at him with wide eyes full of curiosity.
He knelt beside her, taking her hand as he spoke. "You deserve someone who will love you with his whole heart and soul. Someone who'll live for your happiness, and would gladly die for you should the need arise. You deserve to be someone's first choice... his only choice."
"Is that the way you love... Gwen?" she asked him quietly.
"Yes," he whispered. "In all those ways and more."
She paused for a moment, clearly understanding it was a delicate subject. "Then why aren't you with her?" she finally said, her blunt nature overcoming her hesitancy. "You said she was beyond your reach. Is she... is she dead?"
"No!" he exclaimed, horrified by the suggestion. "Good lord, no."
"Married to someone else?" she prodded, raising a quizzical eyebrow at him. "Repulsed by the sight of you?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Then how she beyond your reach?"
He sighed, wishing she'd drop the subject. "Because I'm not worthy of her, and I see no way to better myself or my circumstances."
Millie looked at him skeptically. "Did she decide you weren't good enough? Ask you to change to meet her standards?"
"No, of course not! Gwen isn't like that. She'd never..."
"Oh, I see," she said with a smirk. "The price of the life you've lived? You might want to take that statement and apply it to yourself, Lancelot."
"What?" He blinked in confusion, then realized she'd been referring to his earlier comment. "No, this is a completely different situation. Gwen deserves a better life than I could possibly hope to give her. I have little to offer, and she deserves..."
"Would you tell me I was unworthy of someone I loved because of who I am? That I didn't deserve them because of the things I've had to do in order to survive? Or would you tell me that..."
"It's not the same thing," he interrupted as he rose to his feet. "You don't understand."
"But how is it...?"
"I don't want to talk about it anymore," he said dismissively, turning his mind to more practical matters so he wouldn't have to think about it either. "Where's Jack? I haven't even seen him this morning."
"Gone," she said matter-of-factly as she headed back to the cottage, leaving him no choice but to follow. "Rode out of here early this morning, going on and on about how he was off to seek his fortune. Bloody fool."
He stared at her in disbelief. "Gone? Why didn't you stop him?"
"Why would I? He's a free man now, isn't he? If he wants to leave, I say good riddance!"
"He isn't a man, only a half grown boy who doesn't have the faintest idea how to survive out in the world. I can't imagine he'll get very far without our help."
"Without your help, you mean," she said bluntly, staring at him in a way that almost made him squirm. "Lancelot, for someone with such a low opinion of himself, you seem to know an awful lot about what's best for everyone else."
"I don't..."
She silenced him with a raised eyebrow.
Despite her criticisms, Millie seemed all too willing to leave the solution to their current predicament in Lancelot's hands, questioning him again later that night as they sat beside the fire and consumed yet another meal of cooked trout. Unfortunately, it was the only meat he'd been able to provide.
"I'm so tired of fish. I swear, if I eat any more trout, I'm going to start growing scales. What are we supposed to do? We can't stay here forever."
"I know we can't," he said with a heavy sigh. "We'll leave in the morning and... well, I suppose I'll go back to fighting wherever I can find the opportunity. But I'm afraid that only solves part of our problem."
"What? No! Isn't there something else you could do?"
He shook his head, having already resigned himself to his fate. "I have no other choice. The art of combat is the only skill I know, and I have no intention of allowing either of us to starve."
"But where does that leave me? Am I to come with you, or will you just leave me to my own devices?"
"Neither. I'll find a safe place for you and provide for your care. You won't be alone, I promise you that."
She looked equal parts offended and relieved. "Where is it you're planning to stash me? And what if I don't want to stay there?"
"I don't know yet. I'll have to give the matter more thought."
"But why can't I come with you? I won't be any trouble, I promise."
"Millie, I'm not worried about you causing trouble," he said, hardly able to stand the pleading in her eyes. "It just wouldn't be safe for you. Do you want to be around the kind of men you were forced to deal with before? You know what they're like, perhaps even better than I do. I refuse to expose you to that again."
"Then where will I go? Wherever it is that you came from before you were brought to Greytower?"
Where I came from... Lancelot mused thoughtfully. There was the distant village he hardly remembered anymore. And then there was Camelot, where he had no right to ask favors of anyone. Other than that, there'd only been inns and taverns where he hadn't a soul, along with lonely forests filled with cold and starvation. But there'd also been a place called Oakview, where he'd been lucky enough to find solace in an unexpected friend.
When the solution came to him, it was so obvious that he couldn't imagine why he hadn't thought of it in the first place.
"Nessie," he said as his face broke into a huge grin. "I'll take you to Nessie."